


Brand New Downfall

by merle_p



Category: Edge of Tomorrow (2014)
Genre: Coda, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Femdom, Masturbation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 18:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merle_p/pseuds/merle_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today, he does not need to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brand New Downfall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [th_esaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/th_esaurus/gifts).



> Hey th_esauris, here is your yuletide writer! This is not the assignment we matched on, but you know, as a thank you for introducing me to a new canon, or just in case you don't like your main fic as much as I hope you do, or simply because it's yuletide, have a little extra fic - hope it's what you were imagining! Happy yuletide!

The first thought he has when he wakes up on the helicopter is: "Please, _no_ , not again." Then the helicopter touches down, and things start to fall into place, slowly but surely. He realizes that they are winning, _actually_ winning the war this time, and the horror is replaced by overwhelming relief. 

Today, he does not need to die. 

At first, he does not plan to tell Rita anything. In this version of reality, William Cage doesn't even need an excuse to seek out Rita Vrataski: He is just an officer wanting to congratulate the war hero for saving the world. She does not need to know just how much truth there is to what seems like exaggerated flattery. She does not need to know what they did to get here. He simply looks at her unfriendly face and laughs in delight, laughs even harder at her grudging confusion, because she is alive, she is _alive_ , and in this universe, she may not have to die either. 

The next morning, they take the beach, and oh, it is really a cakewalk this time, the weak twitching of the surviving mimics no match for their – his – fire. But when it's over, and everyone around him is cheering, and whooping, and slapping each other's backs, he catches sight of Rita walking toward him, and even though it's a coincidence, and she doesn't even see him, not really, not truly, he gets hit by a sense of déja-vu so strong it knocks him over, and leaves him heaving and shivering on his knees in the sand. 

"What's wrong with you?" he hears Rita's voice even before her heavy combat boots appear in his field of vision. He looks up to see her standing at his left side, arms crossed over her chest, gazing down on him apprehensively, almost ready to mock him for his embarrassing rookie behavior, except not quite, because she must have seen him fight today, and so she knows that whatever he is, new to this he is not. 

He is not sure why, but it must be something in her voice, her defensive stance, her narrow-eyed look, that makes him cave. He is still shaking, and his teeth are chattering, and there is the bitter taste of bile in the back of his throat, as he stares up at her and croaks:

"I've just been on this beach far too many times."

She doesn't say anything, but from the way she stills, the way her jaw clenches visibly and her eyes widen just the tiniest bit, he knows that she understands. 

 

They end up in the back of a truck, although he does not quite remember how, and god knows where they are going, but they are alone and will be until the truck stops moving, and Cage is beyond caring. 

He is bent over in his seat, face pressed against his knees, and Rita's hand is resting against the back of his neck. It's a sign of how shaken up she must be, he thinks, if she touches him like this so easily: she doesn't even know him, not here, not in this universe. That thought, when it fully hits him, breaks something in him, and only the weight of Rita's hand keeps him together, the warmth of her palm, slightly sticky with sweat, and the way her fingers are pressing down just a little bit too forcefully, not simply to calm him, but also holding him in place.

"Bugger," Rita says again, mostly to herself, the one thing she has said since he told her what happened. Eventually she says: "I'm sorry," and that one must be for his sake, even though it doesn't feel like it – maybe because he knows that she doesn't mean it, maybe because he isn't. He isn't sorry, no, not really, and why would he be, because they have saved the world, and today he won't have to die. 

And yet, he is beginning to suspect that his body may not have fully caught on, because he is still tense, even in the aftermath of his breakdown, still waiting for something to happen. He keeps pressing his face against his thighs, the scratch of the rough fabric a welcome feeling against his cheek, and then Rita says impassionately, almost coldly:

"You did good," 

and just like that, he is hard. 

He feels himself flush as the solid length of his cock pushes up against his chin, even though his torso is shielding his crotch from view, and there is no way she could know. She won't have to know, he tells himself, and still, something inside him that he does not even recognize makes him shake off her hand and raise his head, makes him sit up straight, and now there is no chance she won't see the way his erection is pressing painfully against the fabric of his cargo pants. 

She sees. Her lips part slightly for a sharp intake of breath, the only actual sign that she's noticed, and as Cage looks at her with a heated face, he wonders idly what he is waiting for: he isn't sure if he expects her to mock him, ignore him, slap his face, and he thinks maybe he should be worried that he doesn't really care either way. He'll take whatever it is she has to give. 

In the end, she does neither of those things. Instead, she looks him straight in the eyes, and her gaze never wavers as she says, calmly:

"You probably should take care of this."

At her words, he shudders violently, and there is a fleeting moment of panic, because suddenly he isn't sure, he doesn't know if he can do it. But there is no question that he'll obey, there was never any question, and as he presses the heel of his palm against his aching cock, his eyes locked on hers, he cherishes the tension, the almost cruel pain in his groin, 

and prepares himself

for the all-too familiar feeling of falling apart.


End file.
